till no space lies in between
by pehtrovafire
Summary: He finds her packing for New York. [killian/emma]


Emma picks up the lunchbox and sighs, puzzling over whether to squeeze it into the luggage bag or not. Regina had given it to Henry years ago, and even though Emma's shared him with her for a while now, she can't help but feel somewhat guilty — as if she's stealing the only connection Regina has with him. Emma inspects the lunchbox closely. The plastic is tough and still looks brand new. Eventually, she shoves it into the bag. She'll just tell Regina first thing in the morning. She's rummaging through more clothes in Snow's closet when she hears footfalls approaching her.

"Look, I know the bed's a mess right now but I'll—" Emma pokes her head out of the closet just to glimpse the familiar black leather tailcoat. "Hook."

"Swan," he greets. "Surprised to see me?"

"Actually, yeah. How the hell did you get in here?"

"Your father let me in." Hook frowns. "Have you forgotten that your father and I are on good terms?"

"No, I…" Emma feels her cheeks burn, and her gaze darts to the floor. "I haven't forgotten."

"Good." He hurls a glance at the pile of clothes on the bed. "What are you doing?"

"Packing," she replies with a smile, but it falters when she doesn't see one on his face. "What's wrong?"

"I didn't think you were—"

"You didn't think I was serious about it?" Emma shakes her head. "I meant what I said, Hook. New York is my home. _Our_ home. Mine and Henry's."

"And what did your lad say about it?" Hook tests, but he's met with silence. "You haven't spoken to him about it, have you, love? And you're already packing?"

"I'm his mother," Emma echoes her own words, "and I know what's—"

"What's best for him," he finishes her sentence for her, "is his own choice. He should be able to make that decision for himself."

"He doesn't know what's in store for him in the future."

"And _you_ do?"

"I know it can't be a happy one."

"Something tells me you're not simply talking about your boy." Hook strides across the room towards her. "What are you so afraid of, Emma?"

Silence falls in between them again, and it lasts a moment too long it almost feels like an eternity. Emma opens her mouth as if to say something, but then she closes it again. She casts her eyes down and they can't help but to linger on his lips, and all she can think of is how she'd just pressed her own pair of lips against them not hours ago. She had given up every ounce of her magic — felt it seeping out of her veins and bones and skin, as if all of her strength were being drawn out of her at once — all to save him, to give him CPR, to make him _come back to her_.

And as much as she'd like to admit that she doesn't care about losing her magic, somewhere in a cowering corner in her mind, she blames him. She blames him for wanting to come with her to seek Zelena out, she blames David for asking her to _take_ him with her, she blames Zelena not only for threatening his life but also cursing his lips in the first place (she blames Zelena for everything, really). But as quickly as Hook came back to life, Emma just as quickly forced the entire thing so deep in the depths of her mind that she probably wouldn't even been thinking about it if he wasn't standing so close to her.

"No one knows what the future holds for us, Swan." Hook blinks once, twice, then his gaze drops to the floor. "It's our choice what to make of it."

"By 'us', you mean… _us_, don't you?"

"I don't recall saying that." Hook doesn't bite back a smile this time, because this time there's no Zelena to interrupt them and no caged imp to drown him.

"But you implied it."

"Did I, love?"

"Yes!" Emma cries, exasperated. "Obviously you're talking about you and me! What else could you be talking about?"

"Your family, perhaps," Hook states nonchalantly, pursing his lips. "Your friends. Regina."

Emma feels her cheeks burn again. "I—"

"Is that _really_ what you're afraid of, Emma?" Hook raises a brow. "The possibility of a future between us?"

"N-no, I just—"

"Then _what_?"

Emma's nails dig into her palms, and she can feel the crescent-shaped depressions in her skin. She clenches her jaws. This is exactly why she wants to leave. She doesn't _want_ to have to confront her feelings. She's still wary of it around her own parents, so having a heart-to-heart with Hook has been the least of her worries — she'd been so good at _not_ thinking about it that having to face it right now only catches her off guard. And Emma Swan is never caught off guard.

"I don't know."

"How long do you think it will be before you do, Swan?"

"I… don't know."

Hook nods solemnly, more to himself than to her. He lets out a tired sigh and before Emma knows it, he's turning on his heel and walking slowly towards the kitchen counter — towards the front door. Emma feels her heart beating violently against her chest as her nails dig even deeper into her skin and her jaws clamp more tightly. She marches towards him and shoves her now dulled hands into her coat pocket.

"No, wait, Hook, just—" Emma exhales. "Wait."

Hook turns round. His eyes are fixed on her, and Emma is surprised at how many different kinds of emotions she can see swimming in them. She stops to stand right before them, before _him_; far apart enough to look at each other without having to tilt their heads but close enough to feel the hum of his breathing on her skin.

"Maybe you're right."

"About what?"

"About… not knowing what the future holds." Emma doesn't look him directly in the eyes. "I mean, you're right. We don't know for sure."

"'We' as in…"

"As in my family." She wants to wipe the growing smile on her face, but it's too late. "My friends. Regina."

"Right."

"Yeah, so maybe I _am_ afraid, okay? But not for _me_, you know, for all of them—"

"Swan."

"What?"

"You have never been a more terrible liar as you are in this moment."

"Excuse me?"

"It's all right to admit that you're afraid of your own future."

"_My_ future?"

"With me."

"And we've gone full circle."

"Emma…" Hook's tongue lingers over her name longer than it should. "You can't shelter your heart from everyone forever. You trusted me once before. Don't lose that trust."

"Hook—"

"I won't leave you. I won't _hurt_ you. I promise. At the very least, trust me on _that_."

"_Killian_," Emma murmurs, feeling the back of her eyes prickling. "I just… I need…"

"It's all right, I understand." Hook's smile is confident this time, and Emma feels herself relaxing. "Take all the time you need, Swan."

_Time_. Time is all she'd had to give him since she came back. Time is what she quickly lost the minute she'd regained her position as the Saviour; as soon as there was a villain she had to defeat. There's always a snag, a hurdle to jump over, and most of the time Emma was actually more thankful for it than distressed because if there's no time, she wouldn't even _have_ time to think about this. About _him_.

Hook smiles once more before turning to leave again. He licks his lips and Emma briefly sees Neverland again, sees his fingers shrewdly sidling up to his lips, tapping them to justify her form of "gratitude" for saving David's life. Emma finally pulls her fingers apart and out of her coat pockets. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she twines a hand around his. He stares at their linked hands dazedly, and just as he's about to open his mouth to ask, Emma coils her free hand around the collar of his coat and lunges herself forward. Their lips narrow in the thin crack of air between them, meeting in a kind of routined manner, as if they know exactly what to do from here. Force of habit.

He curls his hooked arm around her waist, careful not to jab her with it, and lets his elbow meet the curve of her spine. He leans forward and closes the space between them altogether. When they pull away, Hook is grinning.

"It's about bloody time, isn't it, Swan?"

"I guess it is," Emma agrees, grinning back at him. "Thank you, Killian."

"What for? You're the one who brought me back."

"But _you_—I… I think you brought my magic back." Hook's mouth hangs open and he watches her in astonishment, watches as she twists her fingers in the air. With a whoosh, he finds his own hook dangling from the lampshade by the couch and Emma laughs. "Yep, it's definitely back."

"Then that means…" Hook raises a brow. "That means it was — _we_ are —"

"_Do not_ say it." Emma slams her palm against his lips and scowls. "Don't."

Hook smiles into her hand and Emma rolls her eyes. When she removes her hand from his lips, Hook immediately leans forward and kisses her. Once. Twice. He kisses her again, and again, out of relief and joy (and to _hell_ with true love); he kisses her again simply because he _can_.


End file.
